Page 4 of The Fiance Dilemma

I wished we didn’t, if I were being completely honest.

That way I’d have an excuse to feed this PR strategist who could have only been sent by one man.Him.

Andrew Underwood.

It would excuse me for blatantly ignoring Andrew’s latest attempts at communication. Something other thanI was hoping to work out the courage to read those eventually.Or something other thansorry, I can’t sit through one more Zoom call with you and your assistant while he pretends to take notes because we’re just awkwardly staring at each other.Or—

“… your father.” Bobbi’s words brought me back to the conversation.

Because I’d spaced out. And she’d been talking. Most likely about why she was here and who had sent her and why. A possibility crossed my mind. “Wait. Andrew’s here?”

Bobbi waved a hand casually. “No. He’s too busy to deal with stuff like this.”

Stuff like this.

Stuff like what?

My head twirled with all the possible answers to that question and I—

“I don’t think you’re really listening to me, Josephine,” Bobbi declared.

She wasn’t wrong.

“So I guess I’m briefing you, then,” she said with a sigh. “Again.” She touched her temple for an instant. “There’s a problem. Well, actually, you are the problem.”

I flinched.

“You have a colorful past,” she continued. “I’m not shaming you for all those engagements, believe me. It wouldn’t matter if youweren’t Andrew’s daughter. Or if you hadn’t showed up at the worst possible moment.”

“He called me,” I croaked. “I didn’t show up. If anything—”

“Adalyn gave him no choice,” Bobbi countered. My stomach dropped at the reminder of the ultimatum Adalyn gave Andrew when she found out we were sisters. No one had known, much less expected, that the woman he’d sent to Green Oak on a philanthropic assignment would turn out to be my sister. Not Adalyn, and certainly not me, as happy as I was to call Adalyn a friend by the time the news hit. “He handled it all poorly, in my professional opinion. And now, one year later, in an attempt at redemption or whatever he’s intending, he’s made everything worse by talking about you and this place toTimemagazine.”

The piece had come out last week. I wasn’t sure how he’d made anything worse, but I did know my name was included in a four-page article dedicated to Andrew Underwood’s life and business accomplishments. I also knew how the journalist who had penned it had referred to me.

A misstep.

Bobbi continued. “And just like I said it would happen, someone was curious enough to dig around about you and turn this whole affair into the soap opera no one needed. It’s not reflecting well on Andrew. It’s a threat to his image, his business, and everything that’s at stake with his retirement around the corner.” She paused.“Youare the threat, by the way.”

The words left me in a strange breath. “I am?”

“YouareAndrew’s misstep,” Bobbi explained, repeating the term that journalist had used.

I paled under my algae mask, hearing those words spoken aloud.

“He swept you under the rug for decades, which is not unheard of. You’d be surprised to learn about the children big personalities keep under wraps. But he—”

“I’m—” I shook my head. “I’m no one’s nothing. I’m just—his daughter.”

“And now everyone knows he abandoned you, Josephine,” Bobbi answered with a certainty that made me flinch back a step. “This sweet, small-town girl who lost her mother at seventeen and had to fend for herself while her dad made millions in Miami.” Her hand rose in the air again, now drawing a wave in front of me. “This sweet, small-town girl whose father’s absence damaged her so deeply she’s been relentlessly and fruitlessly searching for that love somewhere else. This sweet, small-town girl, who’s charmed not one, not two, not three, but four very distinct men, who she dropped like sad, lame, lukewarm potatoes.On their wedding day.”Her tone went dry. “It’s like you were written in a room, really. I’m appalled at how such a clever man couldn’t see how this would harm his image and threaten his legacy.”

Threaten his legacy.

Now my cheeks flamed. My whole body did, the skin under my robe warming up by the second. “That couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“Can’t it?” Bobbi asked with a shrug. “Maybe you should have a listen to a podcast calledFilthy Reali-Tea.Season three, episode twelve, minute eighteen. They dissect the whole thing in detail. It’s shockingly insightful. It’s also the reason why I’m here.”

I blinked. “What—” The gust of air that came out of me cut the words off. “What podcast?”

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